Slates of Zen
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Zen's scrapbook - containing random bits of memories Zen saw fit to keep and let shape him.


**A/N:** Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, Section I (9,999-19,999 words) prompt #029 - a scrapbook of sorts (contains articles, letters, poems, etc. anything that a character can paste into a journal.

This first one refers to the brothel in chapter 1, and since he's a new guy they otherwise seem to know a lot about, he could have been referred from somewhere else. :D And if you've read Blank Slate and know the type of guy Zen is…that should explain the blood. If not, the comment at the end should.

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**Slates of Zen  
Page 1: A letter to an underground brothel**

[The beginning of this letter is missing, including the date and name of the addressed. What heads the letter, instead, is the frayed top, a smear of oil and ash and a few specks of blood.]

_I know someone if you're still looking. With commission, naturally. Attractive, though not necessarily sociable. Black hair, dark eyes – you know, that type. The poster feminine-looking boy who's enough to make any guy who gets a good look at him drool…until they get a load of his personality. A strong one, him. But the strong ones are better, as you've always said._

_This guy's strong alright. Not everyone likes him because of that, and I've never tried him myself. You know me; I'm as straight as a board when it comes to my rep, and can't do much else in this backwater. Your place on the other hand…there's quite a bit to be had under that dark veil of your little hideout._

_Now, this guy…he don't like following orders. He'll run the show himself or not have a show. But those are the sorts that last, aren't they. That business is a rough one after all. The docile ones crumble too easily. Trust me when I say this guy's got character. The amount of people who've chased after him…he makes more than one of my girls._

_They call him "Zen" – or he calls himself Zen and everyone just goes with it. Not sure which one of those, really, nor do I care. A name's worth shit in this world after all, and it's not a real name anyway, whoever chose it. But who cares, really? Giving the customers a good time for their buck – that's the business he's signed himself up for. Someone else's for now, but I know you can afford a better deal than that scumbag (and by that I mean a certain whoring flower of course). _

_And he'll be a good deal. Not a mark on his face – or his body, so I've heard. And he's a good time when he wants to be, when he's interested – and surely you've got more interesting people over there than this ol' town. It's enough to drive me up the wall, and all I came here for was some peace and quiet._

_But you're the one who's recruiting from this ol' place, so I'm giving you what I have. Slender, looks delicate – but this is a country pub. Ever hear of someone made from glass lasting here? Of course not. Why you're asking me, right? Unless it was just a passing comment I've leached on to. Not that it matters which. _

_And there's a lot more freedom 'round there. Here he looks like he's always watching his toes. A tiger in his cage. Much more fun when they're cut loose, right? And he smokes enough cigarettes to make me think he'll fit very nicely into the heavier smokes, if he could get to them. Your place is high on them after all – and everything else. The cathedral of the underground – and there are interesting rumours about this guy too. Trust me when I say he'll fight _right_ in there. Just don't ask me for my sources. The kind out here aren't as honour-loving as your lot – and the Devil knows what you did to make the world's loveliest criminals strip naked and offer their butts to you. Almost makes me wish I was a badder guy. Your place is a heaven. Too bad all I can do is drop by_

_Too bad, really. But at least take this guy of mine. I'd love to keep him around, but there ain't much fun he can show me here. But save him for me when I come. I want him to the fullest_

[The rest of the letter has been torn away, but on the page it's pasted, there's a note, written in deep red ink that's faded slightly with age:

"I only belong to myself. – Zen"

And an after-note, less dark and in the more innocent black:

"Good for a quick fix when I was bored. But done now."]


End file.
